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| ‘Too poncey’? Delia Smith’s just going to the wrong restaurants | ‘Too poncey’? Delia Smith’s just going to the wrong restaurants |
| (2 months later) | |
| Thu 16 Nov 2017 10.05 GMT | |
| Last modified on Thu 16 Nov 2017 10.06 GMT | |
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| I have some sympathy with Delia Smith, who has been roundly set upon online after declaring on Tuesday, following her elevation to the Order of the Companions of Honour for services to cookery, that she no longer enjoys eating out. “Cooking has become very poncey, very chefy,” she complained. “If I get one more plate put in front of me with six dots of sauce on it, I will go mad.” | I have some sympathy with Delia Smith, who has been roundly set upon online after declaring on Tuesday, following her elevation to the Order of the Companions of Honour for services to cookery, that she no longer enjoys eating out. “Cooking has become very poncey, very chefy,” she complained. “If I get one more plate put in front of me with six dots of sauce on it, I will go mad.” |
| When I tell people I’m a food writer, their response is almost always to ask for my favourite restaurant, a question I struggle with, since the truthful answer is my local pub, which is tucked away in a firmly residential area of north London, does an excellent Sunday roast, and doesn’t bat an eyelid if you come in and get quietly blotto over dinner with the dog. This is not the glamorous answer they want, but these are the qualities that – a little like Delia, perhaps (for who can forget the infamous “let’s be having you” speech?) – I value in a restaurant: reliably pleasing food in a relaxed, convivial atmosphere. Much as I respect the artistry of much Michelin-starred cookery, I’d take a suet pudding by the fire over an eight-course tasting menu in Mayfair any day of the week, except perhaps on alternate Fridays. | When I tell people I’m a food writer, their response is almost always to ask for my favourite restaurant, a question I struggle with, since the truthful answer is my local pub, which is tucked away in a firmly residential area of north London, does an excellent Sunday roast, and doesn’t bat an eyelid if you come in and get quietly blotto over dinner with the dog. This is not the glamorous answer they want, but these are the qualities that – a little like Delia, perhaps (for who can forget the infamous “let’s be having you” speech?) – I value in a restaurant: reliably pleasing food in a relaxed, convivial atmosphere. Much as I respect the artistry of much Michelin-starred cookery, I’d take a suet pudding by the fire over an eight-course tasting menu in Mayfair any day of the week, except perhaps on alternate Fridays. |
| There is indeed far too much emphasis on what Smith terms “theatre on a plate”, an idea that, when done well, can elevate a meal from the delicious to the truly astonishing, but all too often doesn’t. The first time I saved up my hard-earned pennies to eat at the Fat Duck in my mid-20s (when it was considerably less expensive than it is now), I remember being astonished to realise, on the last train home, that our noisy, greedy and not particularly epicurean group had talked of nothing else but the food all evening. That’s how interesting those dishes were. The second time, more recently, the magic was gone, and instead we complained about the bill all the way to Paddington. | There is indeed far too much emphasis on what Smith terms “theatre on a plate”, an idea that, when done well, can elevate a meal from the delicious to the truly astonishing, but all too often doesn’t. The first time I saved up my hard-earned pennies to eat at the Fat Duck in my mid-20s (when it was considerably less expensive than it is now), I remember being astonished to realise, on the last train home, that our noisy, greedy and not particularly epicurean group had talked of nothing else but the food all evening. That’s how interesting those dishes were. The second time, more recently, the magic was gone, and instead we complained about the bill all the way to Paddington. |
| That’s not to say that such cooking has had its day – Jöro in Sheffield has stripped back most of the formalities that “fine dining” is supposed to demand, including the high prices, but my lunch there last month was probably the best meal I’ve had this year. Yes, there were more dots than a Damien Hirst retrospective, but when sauces taste this good, it’s probably better not to serve them in a jug, lest diners forget their manners. | That’s not to say that such cooking has had its day – Jöro in Sheffield has stripped back most of the formalities that “fine dining” is supposed to demand, including the high prices, but my lunch there last month was probably the best meal I’ve had this year. Yes, there were more dots than a Damien Hirst retrospective, but when sauces taste this good, it’s probably better not to serve them in a jug, lest diners forget their manners. |
| If that’s not Delia’s thing though, fair enough – if online reviews are anything to go by, there are more than enough customers who do enjoy it – but I’m surprised she finds it so hard to find restaurants that offer more traditional pleasures. London is, of course, stuffed with excellent casual options these days, but you don’t have to look far for a “really special meal” of the kind she’s after. Classics such as Quo Vadis, J Sheekey and St John are still going very strong indeed, and if she’d been disappointed by the options nearer Buckingham Palace, she could hardly accuse the dining room at the Goring, which still retains the Queen Mother’s favourite, Eggs Drumkilbo, on the menu, of fancy modern cooking. | If that’s not Delia’s thing though, fair enough – if online reviews are anything to go by, there are more than enough customers who do enjoy it – but I’m surprised she finds it so hard to find restaurants that offer more traditional pleasures. London is, of course, stuffed with excellent casual options these days, but you don’t have to look far for a “really special meal” of the kind she’s after. Classics such as Quo Vadis, J Sheekey and St John are still going very strong indeed, and if she’d been disappointed by the options nearer Buckingham Palace, she could hardly accuse the dining room at the Goring, which still retains the Queen Mother’s favourite, Eggs Drumkilbo, on the menu, of fancy modern cooking. |
| Perhaps the scene is different in her home city of Norwich, though it does boast several Michelin plates to denote “good cooking”, and Reindeer, in particular, with its “straightforward, proudly British cooking”, sounds like it would be right up her street. | Perhaps the scene is different in her home city of Norwich, though it does boast several Michelin plates to denote “good cooking”, and Reindeer, in particular, with its “straightforward, proudly British cooking”, sounds like it would be right up her street. |
| If she headed to the coast, she could eat very well indeed at the Gunton Arms near Cromer, where the food, cooked on an open fire, is anything but “poncey”, and I’ve had many a fine seafood feast at the Butley Oysterage in Orford, Suffolk – a place where frills are firmly confined to the grilled dover sole. | If she headed to the coast, she could eat very well indeed at the Gunton Arms near Cromer, where the food, cooked on an open fire, is anything but “poncey”, and I’ve had many a fine seafood feast at the Butley Oysterage in Orford, Suffolk – a place where frills are firmly confined to the grilled dover sole. |
| If Delia thinks the restaurant scene is all about splodges of sauce, then she really needs to get out more. | If Delia thinks the restaurant scene is all about splodges of sauce, then she really needs to get out more. |
| • Felicity Cloake writes about food for the Guardian | • Felicity Cloake writes about food for the Guardian |
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